Sitting from left: Mary Robbins, Jane McDermott, Caroline White. Back row, on left: Catherine Crosthwaite, Hannah Finnegan-Walsh

Did you Dress to Express on Friday?  My BFF, Kiwi Mary, just sent me this photo of her colleagues celebrating their commitment to end domestic violence in the Southern Hemisphere ~ where it is now Spring.  The men in her firm, Rapport Advertising and Marketing, also donned purple, but they were too shy to appear in the photo.  Bravo and thank you!

Dress to Express is the brainchild of Between Friends in Chicago.  If you too wore purple on Friday (or if you need to cheat a bit and take your photo today), please send your photo to Colleen Norton at Between Friends so that she can post it on their Facebook page in November:

cnorton@betweenfriendschicago.org

Rapport promotes New Zealand’s Book Month, and Ms. Robbins is a member of the World’s Best Book Club.  She has international business and marketing expertise; the people at her firm are brilliant.

Rapport Advertising and Marketing, run by American expat Mary Robbins and business partner Mickey Pillay is just 4+ years young, but it is taking the world by storm, winning awards globally for their work for Immigration New Zealand (to attract talent and investment to New Zealand) and most recently, with Chicago’s own PROMO Awards, where they took 4 honors (including gold!) for their work for New Zealand Book Month.  That campaign, Books Change Lives, put nearly 100,000 books into Kiwis hands last March!  Find out more at www.rapport.net.nz.

Jesse Jones

Jesse Jones is a hero to the little guy in Seattle.  Hundreds of people call him every week at KING5 (NBC) hoping to “Get Jesse” to remedy an injustice. 

Mr. Jones, who was a championship star fullback at Montana State and was recruited by the Green Bay Packers, brings an intimidating drive to his investigative reports.  He is equally protective of the little guy who is getting trampled by the callous disregard of arrogant executives.  He told the Tacoma News Tribune:

A great day in news is that you can change lives. You can change the way the government operates.  You can have people see something that will affect their lives.

My friend Carole May has been telling me that I need to “Get Jesse” for months.  It isn’t easy.  In these tough economic times, thousands of people are getting trampled every day.  We all desperately need help.

A few weeks ago, Jesse Jones came to Alderwood Mall to collect food for NW Harvest.  It was a rare brilliantly blue morning in Seattle.  I took my miserable bounty from the NW Harvest food bank to show Mr. Jones what people who have to rely on them actually get.  When he looked into my bag, I thought he was going to wretch.  Our eyes connected.  I will never forget the compassion in his eyes.

He handed me his card.  I shared my dubious feelings that I would ever speak to him.  He shook my hand with the firm grip of a person with profound integrity, and he smiled.

I bawled all the way home and told Bitzie that everything was going to be OK because we’ve got Jesse Jones in our corner.

He called me while I was at the food bank the next week to get yet another miserable bounty of food.  Later that day, I learned that I’ll be homeless at the end of the month.

This will be the fifth Christmas in my life with the horrendous threat of homelessness dangling over my head like the sword of Damocles.  The PTSD episodes are absolutely unbearable.  When I hear news reports of the death of an amazing person, I wish I could trade places with them.

Yesterday, I got up at 6:30 to be at the county’s 211 offices to try to get funds for my January rent.  I quickly discovered that the guy who is getting paid big bucks by the county to prevent homelessness had sent me on a wild goose chase.  I also discovered that he needlessly put me through inordinate stress during our meeting last week.  He’s in the hospital now recovering from a horrific car accident, and I’m embarassed to admit that I hope this Scrooge is getting a few visits from Dickens’ Christmas ghosts.  I know I’m not the only person who feels this way.

My next stop was at Volunteers of America to pick up a gas voucher that wasn’t, in fact, ready.  Then, I drove to the food bank.  Last week I rescued a toddler who was about to be sandwiched between two cars whose drivers couldn’t see him obliviously dancing in the parking lot.  I felt confident that Karma would smile on me and grant me the blessing of a low lottery number this week.  The food bank had honeydew melons and other fresh produce.  But, I ended up at the end of the line for the sixth week in a row.  By the time it was my turn, the only thing left was a pile of empthy carbohydrates.

I couldn’t stop the tears that came gushing out of my eyes.  As I drove out of the parking lot, I knew that I needed to try to “Get Jesse” if I was to have any hope of survival.

I called him as soon as I got home.  I was stunned that he picked up the phone.  After I shared my story, the phone was so silent I thought he’d hung up.  No.  He didn’t know what to say.

Finally, he shared that he was going on a leave of absence.  I foolishly assumed it was to help out a relative or a friend in trouble.  He said they were working on a press release for the evening news.

I watched KING5 at 5:00 and 6:30.  No word about Jesse Jones.  I valiantly tried to stay awake for the 11:00 broadcast and failed.  When I saw the press release on their website, I felt like a jerk whining to Jesse about my problems:

Jesse has already had two tumors successfully removed and will now begin immunotherapy. His doctors say because he is young and in good health, they are optimistic the treatments will destroy the last bit of cancer.

Mr. Jones appears to be robust.  He’s six feet tall and says he weighs 260.  His loyal viewers had no idea he’s been battling kidney cancer which has now spread to his lungs.  We so often see people like Jesse Jones as invincible without thinking about the toll their warrior endeavors takes on their bodies.  We forget they have families and loved ones.  He told his fans on Twitter:

I’d like to thank everyone for their well wishes.  I will beat this disease because I have the support of friends, family and fans.  Be good!

In researching this post, I learned that Jesse Jones’ grandfather was from North Carolina.  He was in the Navy during World War II and stationed at Bremerton.  The family settled in Tacoma while his father ~ Jesse Jones, Sr. ~ served in the Army as  a military police officer.  After retiring at the rank of major from the Army, Mr. Jones, Sr.  worked as a security officer and investigator for Boeing.   He believes his son learned investigative skills from the stories he brought home from work.

His mother, Mary Ann Jones, told the Tacoma News Tribune:

He’s always cared about people.  He doesn’t like it when anybody messes with anybody, especially with seniors or children.

Mr. Jones is deeply in love with his wife Kim and their adopted daughter Cydney.  They don’t live far from me.  He loves to play golf. 

He told the Seattle Times:

I will fight this with all I have, and I look forward to getting back to fighting other people’s battles again in February.

In retrospect, I am profoundly humbled that he was more concerned about my welfare yesterday than he was about his own.  We made a date to talk later this month.  In the meantime, he promised me  that he’s going to take it on ~ without saying “it” was cancer ~ and win.  His boss executive news producer Mark Ginther told the Times:

He has a proper perspective on things.  He’s a fighter; he’s somebody that’s going to look this square in the eye and tackle it.

Jesse Jones has a great attitude about life and an incredibly huge heart.  I pray that he will get the best possible care, be surrounded with love and compassion, and will recover swiftly and completely.  He’s one of the good guys.

If you don’t live in the Seattle area or in Baltimore or Cincinnati where he was on the air, you can get a sense of why we love him so much by watching this funny one-minute YouTube video of Jay Leno calling to “Get Jesse” to deliver a salmon to the Tonight Show.  You can see the football player in him.  You can see the love and compassion.  And, you can hear his trademark staccato, “JESSE JONES. . .KING5 News!”

Jesse, I wish you a speedy recovery and the blessing of great health.  We all love you and wish you well.

Carole May

Cruising Magazine’s May/June 2010 issue showcases the marine photography of Carole May.  A dreamy photo of a marsh near Anacortes, WA is on the cover, and there is an extensive gallery of her work starting on page 16.  In between, the magazine has liberally published her photos.

Bravo, Carole!  Bravo!

This is one of my favorite marine photos by Ms. May.  You’ll have to click on the links to see more photos ~ she has a new series from her recent trip to England.

Note:  © Carole May 2009-2010.  All rights reserved strictly enforced.  Photos may not be reproduced or used without written permission.

Karleen Koehler was a bird-lover without equal.  She founded Jeepers Cheepers, a sanctuary for birds rescued from neglect and cruelty.  

Photographer Carole May introduced me to Jeepers Cheepers after I adopted the Byrds.  It was an amazing place with about 200 birds of every feather from humble parakeet to zebra finches, cockatiels, and majestic parrots.  To help fund the sanctuary, Mrs. Koehler sold bird supplies and food.  Her millet was phenomenal.  Ms. May eulogized her dear friend Mrs. Koehler:  

Her legacy is all the birds she took in, rehabilitated and found good homes for.  And those who couldn’t be rehabilitated were cared for lovingly so they could live out their time on earth the best they could.  I know when she got to Rainbow Bridge, there were many there to greet her and she crossed over with a very colorful flock around her.  

Friends and relatives celebrated Mrs. Koehler’s life at a memorial potluck dinner which was exceptionally well-attended.  Fortunately, most of the birds at Jeepers Cheepers have been adopted.  Ms. May adopted a pair of gorgeous lovebirds she has named Adagio and Dolce.  

 They are joining Dundee, who spent many vacations with Ms. Koehler and loved her very much. 

Angel 2, who is one of my Byrds, is also mourning Mrs. Koehler.  She took loving care of him when he had issues with his beak.  He and Mozart love, love, loved the millet from Jeepers Cheepers. 

Mrs. Koehler passed away on April 20, 2010.  Our hearts and prayers are with Mrs. Koehler’s adoring husband Larry and her family and friends ~ those with feathers and those without.  Mrs. Koehler will be deeply missed by everyone.

You want justice?  Pack the court room with people wearing purple ribbons.     Vernetta Cockerham and RitaAnita Linger proved this strategy worked in North Carolina.  PETA proved it worked when a couple of punks savagely killed a stray dog.  Sadly, nobody showed up to pack the same judge’s courtroom when a little girl was allegedly raped by her daddy.  Nobody cared about what happened to that little girl until her daddy killed four Lakewood, WA cops.  A teenager in the same county was similarly not protected from her daddy’s abuse.  Nobody cared about what happened to her until her daddy killed a cop and wounded another.  This brave teenager ended up having to protect the cops during a close-range shoot-out with her daddy.      

Truth be told, the system still doesn’t care about the welfare of those two girls.  Gov. Christine Gregoire is deeply concerned about the welfare of her police officers, but preventing domestic violence isn’t a priority for her.  She doesn’t get that those cops are all dead because domestic violence victims don’t get much real protection in Pierce County, WA.  And, she certainly doesn’t get how much Washington’s failure to make domestic violence a priority is costing the taxpayers.      

Searching for Justice © 2009, Carole May

Bravo, Rights for Mothers!      

Pit bull abusers have lots of Internet help available to them on how to manipulate the legal system as an instrument of abuse.  They quickly learn they’ll go to jail for physicial abuse.  In jail, they learn that they can more brutally ~ and legally ~ hurt a mother by taking away her kids.  In a strategy as old as Adam blaming Eve for the apple, they turn the tables on their victims.  Women fiercely trying to protect their kids from brutal fathers find themselves called prostitutes and addicts and mentally unstable.  Many find their professional careers blackballed by false accusations and innuendos.      

Rights for Mothers, however, is a valiant advocate for these women.  Her blog focuses on Parental Alienation Syndrome which all the experts agree is bullshit, but judges around the country keep falling for it.  Why?  They either are abusive behind their own closed doors or they have never been to judicial training to learn about the dynamics of litigation abuse and how to stop it.      

Rights for Mothers has been a champion for women like Julie Levine ~ where is the media ~ why don’t they engage in their First Amendment duty to investigate?  And, Lisa Hutchings ~ who lost her kids to her uber-rich Florida husband with a history of crack abuse.  And, Claudine Dombrowski ~ who lost her kids in Kansas because she was disabled by her ex-husband’s abuse.  Go figure.  It boggles the mind how a judge could find it in the best interest of these kids to be with their brutal fathers rather than with their fiercely protective mothers.      

Update:  Shortly after this post, WordPress yielded to pressures exerted by powerful abusive men who were held accountable by Rights for Mothers.  Her blog was “tossed” by WordPress.  But, Nancy will NOT be stopped.  She’s back open for business at  http://rightsformothers.com.  Please be patient while she goes through the arduous process of reloading her vast library of information onto her new site. 

Bravo, Claudine Dombrowski!     Despite her disabilities, Claudine Dombrowski didn’t go quietly into the night.  She’s breaking down the walls of silence on her blog.  And, she followed in Vernetta Cockerham’s footsteps.  Last week, she and Rights for Mothers packed the courtroom, and Ms. Dombrowski finally got some justice.  The judge opined that she had a First Amendment right to break down the walls of silence.  Are you listening WordPress?      

Breaking Down the Walls of Silence:  Power of the Sisterhood and the Press      

Let’sGetHonest, who has an insider’s knowledge, blows the whistle on “creaming” by non-profit agencies ~ this is why so many women experiencing domestic violence don’t get help from the system.      

In August, 2009, O Magazine did extensive investigative journalism into Vernetta Cockerham’s story.  Her story, sadly, is the story of many women experiencing domestic violence.      

Denise Richards got justice ~ it took her four very long years.  She was quite fortunate to have the funds to prevail over her ex-husband actor Charlie Sheen, who is a serial pit-bull abuser.  Sandra Boss similarly was able to fund the long fight to hold her ex-husband “Clark Rockefeller” accountable for kidnapping their daughter Snooks.  He’s now serving five years in prison.      

Sadly, most women don’t have that kind of money.  Lisa Hutchings, for example, lost her kids to abusive ex-husbands with money and power twice because she didn’t have the money to put up a viable fight.  Their buddies have engaged in a nasty Internet campaign to discredit her with vicious, anonymous comments to blog posts supporting her.  This strategy is as old as preachers falsely suggesting Mary Magdalene is a prostitute because she was Jesus’ favorite disciple.      

I hope those of you walking in the shoes of these brave women will click on the purple words in this post.  You are most definitely not alone, and the litigation abuse you are experiencing is not unique.  We all need to contribute our own talents to break down the walls of silence and demand justice.  When we band together as sisters, we will all be empowered.  And, we will get justice.  Finally.

Sophie Littlefield

Do your holidays need an infusion of happy?    

I was in a terrible funk.  Bad case of the blues.  Down in the dumps.  I needed myself a badass read to cure me of my bad attitude.    

On her blog, Susan Wiggs recommended Sophie Littlefield’s A Bad Day for Sorry.  I almost missed the review, but the book cover grabbed my attention ~ it is a debut author’s dream.    

I added it to my Amazon wish list, and the book arrived yesterday. I absolutely loved it.  I knew it would be fun from the opening page:    

Whuppin’ ass wasn’t so hard. . .    

What was hard was making sure it stayed whupped.    

Especially on a day when it hit a hundred degrees before noon.  And you were having hot flashes. . .    

“Fuck serenity,” Stella said.  And she shot the trailer.    

I’m an absolute sucker for books of the Persian Pickle Club genre ~ Olivia Goldsmith’s First Wives Club ~ Fern Michael’s sisterhood series ~ Janet Evanovich’s irreverent sass ~ Candace Bushnell’s One Fifth Avenue.  In A Bad Day for Sorry, the limo is Stella’s late husband’s beloved Jeep.  The heroine is a blend of menopausal Cagney and Lacey and Stephanie Plum with a soundtrack nod to Saffire:  the Uppity Blues Women:    

If widowhood had given Stella license to explore her authentic self, menopause stood under the window yelling at the bitch to come out and rumble.    

It’s ironic.  Men don’t get good until they are 50.  When women hit 50, their attitude is it is “a bad day for sorry.”  We get a bit cantankerous.  Ms. Littlefield and her publisher astutely divined that there are a whole lot of survivors of domestic violence of a certain age who buy a lot of books:    

Stella Hardesty dispatched her abusive husband with a wrench shortly before her fiftieth birthday.    

Folks in the Ozarks foothills of Missouri know the score, and Stella is never tried for her crime.  In fact, the hunky local sheriff Goat Jones loves her for her vigilante justice and quietly enables her quest:    

Stella’s clients, the ones society couldn’t ~ or wouldn’t ~ protect, the ones who resorted to begging and promising and praying as their only weapons against the horror in their own homes. . .    

Chrissy reminded Stella of herself, in a way, on the day when she’d finally had enough of Ollie’s abuse and made the transformation from passive victim to hell-for-leather avenger.    

Stella supervises her “parolees” with her “ass-whuppin’s” more effectively than the criminal justice system:    

Stella. . .was worried that Roy Dean was the sort of woman-smacker who truly believed down in his bones that it was his God-given right to settle every disagreement with force, that it was a woman’s job to absorb a man’s disappointments and frustrations in the form of taunts and put-downs and thrown punches.    

Sadly, this was the type who was most likely to pick up again where he left off with some other poor woman.  Which was why Stella was here today.    

. . .Stella knew too much about pain ~ the kind inflicted on the innocent, the defenseless, those whose worst sins were bad judgment and displaced loyalty.  And she’d pledged to stop it.  Not every abuser, everywhere ~ there were simply too many.  But if it was in her power to help a woman in Sawyer County, she did so.  And gradually word reached sisters and cousins and best friends and acquaintances further afield, down through the Ozarks and up to Kansas City and over to Saint Louis. . .Stella picked off the sons-of-bitches one by one. . .she never turned a client away. . .    

With a great deal of sass and humor, Ms. Littlefield takes on how the criminal justice system fails people who experience domestic violence.  She dispels myths about domestic violence with bold truth.  Her characters express very real emotions.  And, she artfully weaves into her story the danger of vigilante justice ~ especially when the abuser is powerfully connected ~ a cop, a preacher, or a mob member.    

Yes, her story is fiction, but I loved how she inspires women to assert their power to protect each other.  She helped me resurrect my feisty inner badass bitch and goddess.  She reminded me that I get to make my own rules for my life.  Better than Prozac or a bottle of “Johnnie Black” and “Bud back” to cure what ails you.    

Happy Holidays, y’all!  

Update:  A Bad Day for Sorry is now available in paperback.  A Bad Day for Pretty will be released on June 8, 2010.

Yet, by definition, domestic violence is isolating.  We can become alienated from those who were once dear to us because we are ashamed about what’s happening behind closed doors or because a controlling person in our lives demands we cut our ties or is hyper-critical of our friends, family, or colleagues.

If, like me, you find your safety means relocating and joining an Address Confidentiality Program (ACP), you will have to create a new protection circle.  Today’s post is about how I did it.

On the four month anniversary of this web site being live, I also want to take a moment to honor the people nearest and dearest to me ~ to thank them for their support and friendship ~ to celebrate with them how far we’ve come on our journeys.

Ricci is my rock.  I trust her with my life.  We have been friends for decades and call each other “sista.”  This photo was taken of us in 1992 when I thought I had the world by the tail.  I had just met a man who I believed was the love of my life.  Oh, happy days!

This photo was taken at Ricci’s 50th birthday after-party.  Everybody called Ricci’s mother “Mama Glo.”  Her name was Gloria, and her dream was to be in the audience for a taping of the Oprah show.  Sadly, Mama Glo has passed, but Ricci, her sisters, and I are determined to honor Mama Glo’s memory by making it happen.  Mama Glo loved to joke that I was her ”woodpile baby.”

Ricci’s instincts are phenomenal.  She had radar for when the abuse was about to happen, and she’d call me.  “Are you OK?  You are on my mind.”  She helped me to know when it was time to head for my cousin’s mountain cabin ~ a place so isolated and remote that I have trouble finding it even though I’ve been there several times.

My cousin has been protecting me since we were kids.  In this next photo taken at our grandfather’s farm, I’m nestled in her lap, and she’s got her arms circled around me.  I was safe.

My cousin introduced me to her cousin-in-law Winnie, and she became my guardian angel.  I relocated to Washington State on Winnie’s birthday, and we celebrated her life with a memorial service.  This next photo is of Winnie (second from left), her soon-to-be husband Clair, and their friends from Alaska.

My move to Washington was arduous ~ lots of thunderstorms and tornadoes ~ I was driving a rental truck and towing a car through the mountains ~ the car dolly tires had slow leaks and ultimately went flat about 100 miles from my destination.  I abandoned the rental truck in order to make Winnie’s memorial service on time.  Then, I spent my first night in my new apartment sleeping on the floor.  Except for my cousin, I didn’t know a soul.  I had to sever ties with everyone I knew except for my parents and Ricci.

But, because of this handsome prince of a man ~ Dutch ~ I had a lovely apartment waiting for me.  I found Dutch by getting lost trying to find the auto repair place that did a lousy job of fixing my car.  His mother had experienced dometic violence, and he has been a champion for me.  He’s helped me overcome many obstacles and has been a rock of support for 10 years.  He’s the best property manager on the planet.

After I got the keys to my apartment, I went to Safeway to stock up.  I was out of cash and didn’t know if they’d cash my out-of-state check (pre-debit cards).  I didn’t have a credit card because using them is like leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for a stalker to follow.  I will never, ever forget Terri’s smiling face.  She welcomed me to Washington and figured out how to get me a Safeway card.  For ten years, I have cherished her generous heart and charming attitude.  She makes a difference in everyone’s life.

I was very guarded and shy.  It was extraordinarily difficult for me to trust strangers and make new friends.  But, Kathy Gill’s Southern charm embraced me.  She and her fiance Mike were my first Washington friends.  They are technological geniuses who are perpetually on the cutting edge, and they have enormous patience for my naivete.

Eve Ensler came to Seattle to work on her new play, and I was blessed to meet her.  She and her staff have been extraordinarily generous and supportive.  This photo from V-Day to the Tenth, I think, captures the essence of her brilliant spirit.

The upside of being a newbie in an ACP is that I had lots of time to read and reflect.  I used the time to try to understand the dynamics of healthy relationships ~ how to establish and maintain them.  I volunteered for political campaigns, did the Artist’s Way, and went to writing seminars to meet new people and expand my horizons.  I hung out at the pool at my apartment complex and welcomed new neighbors.  It took me a very long time to get my sea legs.

One by one, my protection circle grew.  My new friends and colleagues are brilliant, warm, generous, funny, courageous, resourceful, empathetic, and charming.  All have tremendous integrity and wisdom.

The Russians. . .Elena, Galina, and Yury. . .on vacation. . .

Carole May, web goddess and marine naturalist. . .doing what she does best. . .

Karlyn, photography student. . .how about that self-portrait?

Fellow writer and advertising executive extraordinaire, Kiwi Mary (in blue). . .sending friendship and support each week over the Internet from New Zealand. . .

My amazing hairdresser Raquel. . .

Julie, paralegal and fellow Hillary Clinton fan. . .always smiling and sending e-mail messages that make me laugh. . .

Sheila and Phillip. . .fabulous neighbors and fantastic friends. . .

And, m’dea sista, RitaAnita Linger. . .colleague and confidante. . .inspiring shining star. . .

I love you all and feel so grateful and blessed that you are a part of my life’s experience.

Carolyn Jessop

 Freedom is extraordinary, and love a miracle.

-Carolyn Jessop

Six years ago, Carolyn Jessop achieved a miracle. She escaped from an abusive polygamist marriage to FLDS leader Merril Jessop. In her own words:

Everything you did was monitored and controlled and everybody reported on everyone else. It was a police state. You were not allowed to make decisions in your life. I had no power over my life or the lives of my children. It was a terrible way to live.

The way he controlled me was by being violent to my children. If I did something that he didn’t like, my children paid, and they paid a big price. He would hurt them. If he would have been hurting me, I probably would not have conformed. But when you go after a woman’s child, that’s one thing that will put a woman on her knees quickly.

Carolyn planned her escape for three years. She paid close attention to what provoked her husband’s abuse. By reading his facial expressions and listening to the tone of his voice, she learned outsmart him. First, she and her father made futile appeals to Warren Jeffs, head of the FLDS. Since the police were all members of the FLDS, they refused to protect her.

Carolyn was determined to leave with all her eight children, but this wasn’t easy. Arthur, her oldest son, worked construction and was not always home; Harrison, was disabled from cancer; and Bryson, her youngest son was still nursing. Betty, her oldest daughter was terrified leave. Carolyn had $20 to fund their escape which she describes in her book:

The moment had come. I had been watching and waiting for months. The time was right. I had to act fast and without fear. I could not afford to fail. Nine lives were at stake. . .the choice was freedom or fear.

Her sister Linda, who was in a less oppressive marriage, helped her contact her brothers. While her husband was away on a business trip, her brothers Arthur and Darrel agreed to drive down from Salt Lake and to meet her near the Utah state line which was three miles from the FLDS community. Her van ran out of gas one mile from their meeting place.

Her brothers took her to Dan Fischer’s home with the FLDS posse hot on her tail. Dan decided the Utah attorney general needed to be involved immediately to secure an emergency order of protection.

Fortunately, Carolyn says she had “the steadfast and unyielding support of friends, family, and strangers who rallied around me immediately after I escaped. . .provided refuge, understanding, support, and love. . .I could not have survived without them.”

She celebrated her 17^th wedding anniversary by getting her hair professionally cut and styled for the first time in her life.

Carolyn’s second miracle was winning her fight for custody of her eight children. She had the support of Utah’s attorney general, Mark Shurtleff, and was represented by Lisa Jones, a former judge.

The battered women’s shelter in West Jordan helped her find subsidized housing. She went on welfare. She was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Some days she survived in five minute increments. While living in this survival mode, her authentic self emerged. She got a brief job sewing costumes for an HBO series. After collecting $30,000 in past-due accounts for a friend’s business, she decided to become an accountant.

Warren Jeffs is now in prison, and Merril Jessop has been indicted.

Carolyn Jessop has found safety in the spotlight. She created a map for other FLDS wives to follow. She’s been on the Today Show and Oprah. She’s been interviewed by Time and CNN. She’s testified before Congress. Her book Escape became a best seller. She’s found joy with a man named Brian.

I had the pleasure of meeting Carolyn Jessop on November 9, 2007.

Marilyn Stanton, my guardian angel at the Watseka, IL Public Library, recommended this book to me.  It is one of my favorites.  I hope y’all will read it and decide to make lots of quilts for Shalom Bayit’s clients.  “Persian pickle” is an old-fashioned term for paisley scraps used in making quilts, and the Persian Pickle Club is the name of the quilting bee at the heart of the story.

My late grandmother and my godmother quilted in the same Centennial farmhouse in southern Illinois.  During the Great Depression, quilting bees were support groups for farm women.  They were the original protection circles.

Since I’m recommending this book highly, you have to know domestic violence is part of the story, but that’s all I’m going to reveal of the mystery.  Yep.  There might have been one of Madea’s cast iron skillets involved.

When my godmother learned how deeply this book had touched my heart, she made me a quilt for my 59th birthday.  I treasure that quilt.  It reminds me each night that my life is precious and that I am loved unconditionally.

Note:  The quilts featured on this page were showcased at the 2009 Seattle Flower & Garden Show in the incredible four season ”Patchwork Garden” exhibit.  The designs of the quilts were mirrored in the designs of the gardens.  The exhibit was a collaboration of  Olympic Nursery:   http://www.olympicnursery.com/ and Gathering Fabric Quilt Shop:  http://www.gatheringfabric.com/  You can see more photos of the amazing details at the quilt shop’s web page.

The Dance by Henri Matisse